The George Effect
by uniquely fresh
Summary: George's "family" feel his loss. Disclaimer-- I own nothing. COMPLETED
1. Chapter 1

George O'Malley is loving, kind, courageous, and smart. He possessed all the traits, morals and characteristics that any parent dreams of their child having. He never disappointed or failed in my eyes. Although a repeater he shined through the most as a doctor and person. He never gave up.

I am seen as the toughest, the strongest, and unbreakable, but the loss of one of my babies has broken down those walls to mere pebbles. I wish the breaching of these barriers were under different circumstances. Circumstances like when George softened his way into my heart, when he became my family.

Many people believe I only have one child. On paper it legally states that, but my heart and mind know better. I have six.

My first set of five interns managed to nestle their ways into different chambers of my heart.

I taught them all I knew about medicine, life, and during that journey they taught me as well.

When little Tucker joined our family, it was George who talked me through it. It was George who comforted and supported me. I was and still am eternally grateful, and will never forget it. I was so impressed, and thankful I did the honor and gave Tucker the middle name George. This was just one of many loving things he offered me.

He was aware of my marriage falling apart. He pulled me through my life as a separated wife. He offered and enjoyed baby sitting little Tucker, giving me and my husband much needed time to make amends. Now as I begin the difficult journey as a divorcée, there will be no George to offer comforting words or hugs. There will be no George to put me back on track. He is gone forever.

An incalculable amount of tears are being released from my eyes, creating vast warm streams down my cheeks. Frantic and broken sobs form in my throat and flee uncontrollably from my mouth. My brain understands all the facts, the reality and has accepted the tragedy at hand. It's my heart that is having all the trouble. My heart is enduring all the pain. Broken, wrenched, twisted, torn, punctured, everything, all the deformations the heart can feel physically and emotionally are being felt. This is what is happening to me, this is what I feel as I stay firmly slumped against one of the hospital's bathroom doors.

I begin to hate myself for the slew of disappointing words I last shared with George and his decision to enlist in the military. I try and tell myself I was just being a protective mother, but I cannot shake the hate. I am disappointed in myself for not expression to O'Malley all that I felt, all that I loved about him every single day. I lost sight of the fact that life is unpredictable. One day you are here and the next day you are gone. It is George's death that will never let me forget those things. With four babies remaining, I enter the bathroom fully and do my best to comfort in ways I've only learned from George O'Malley.


	2. Chapter 2

The hard cold feeling of the floor is a diminutive, meager feeling on my back. Hard and cold is what some would describe me as. Throw in human less and emotionless also. A robot would be a more specific. The feeling of the floor, and all the pre ordained assumptions about me as person do not even compare to the enormous devastating feelings my mind, heart and body are feeling. It might surprise people to find me laying on a bathroom floor, staring a distraught stare into the sterile tiled ceiling. It might surprise people to see me allow my red-rimmed eyes produce tears and allow them to stream down the side of my face, grazing past my ears and fall into my hair without wiping them away. It might surprise people to see my lip quiver in sadness and despair. It might surprise people, but not George O'Malley, or my best friends who have become my real family. Why is life so unfair? Why does it constantly snatch the people we love the most?

All the facts state I am an only child, but my heart and mind know better. I have four other siblings, George O'Malley being one of them.

I always saw him as my younger brother, and like any older sister I would pick on him, tease him, playfully of course. I am the type of person; if you are my friend and I'm not making fun of you then you start worrying. George O'Malley had grown to understand that about me. Wrapped up in my own problems I stopped the playful teasing and banter, I only wonder what he thought then.

I begin to hate myself for not being an expressive person like George was.

The fondest memory I have of George is when his father died. It was the day we understood each other better and on a more personal level. It was heart-wrenching to tell George he would now be apart of the horrible dead-dads club. I vividly remember the night, outside in front of the hospital. It was raining and cold. I saw the pain plastered on his face and in his eyes. It was the when I revealed a piece of my past and of myself, my own father's death. He was the first person to attain that piece of information about me and of my real family the only one who ever will.

With his death I secretly make a promise in my head. All the people who currently hold a spot in my heart will be cherished. I will find the time and make sure I let those people know that I love them, that I don't ever want to live without them, that they changed my life. I will say all the things I should have said to George when I had the chance. I will miss my younger, smart, quirky brother. As I set these silent promises in my mind a familiar presence lies besides me and grasps my hand tightly. It inspires me to do the same with my other hand. I squeeze my person's hand for dear life.


	3. Chapter 3

My person takes my hand in hers as I think of death. It's all too familiar territory for me. I encountered it more than one would have liked, with my mother, and finally I with my own near death experience. Just when I thought I was far ahead of it, it comes back. First it taunts me with Izzie's metastatic melanoma, and then finally entraps me with the sudden loss of George. Even with all its familiarity, and dark and twisty events I've endured it always devastates me beyond belief.

As I remember all the moments involving George I begin to admire his strength as a person. I smile at the way he put up with me and the rest of the ladies complaining to him, and of course him comfortably soothing our tantrums.

Then I frown and remember how I unknowingly tortured him with my grumblings about my McDreamy and the day I gave him false hope that we could be. I should have known better.

Then I remember to be grateful, only a person like George could and be willing to forgive someone for that, and continue to be a wonderful friend in return. I will miss him until I breathe my last breath.

The etchings George wrote on the palm of my hand will forever remain burned there, haunting me, a reminder of just how short life is. It was the final time he touched me. I will never forget the time he squeezed my hand. I am grateful I the last and only person for George to acknowledge and touch. I will cherish and hold on to that moment forever.

Through my sore constricted throat I sob for George. My eyes weep for one of the greatest friends I've ever know. It was George, who all along made me realize to tell the people who can still hear you how much you love them. I am and will always be thankful for that. I just wish it did not take his death to do so. I finally respond to my person's touch. I squeeze her hand, and then clasps the next hand closest to me in the other. I squeeze both intently and tightly. Death will have to pry them from my grasp. I refuse to lose any one else.


	4. Chapter 4

I'm the tough one. The one who doesn't give a shit. The hard ass. Or at least I was. Izzie changed that. She showed me it was okay to learn. She showed me it was okay to care and love again. She is the only good thing to come into my life, the only good thing to ever happen to me. So as Meredith grips my hand into a strong hold, I do the same to Izzie's hand with my other. I begin to gently massage the back of her hand with my thumb in comfort. I hope it will help ease the immeasurable pain she is feeling. I also hold her hand, not only to comfort, but to be grateful that she is alive.

O'Malley and I were never the best of friends. Come to think of it, as I reminisce of our encounters together it has always been negative. It has always involved arguing or fighting. It always involved George being the better man. Only recently have we grown to respect each other fully and as men. Our recent shifts in the ER are ones I've come to cherish, admire and look up to George as a doctor and person.

I resent all the times I fought with him. I resent the times I hated him, and wasted time I spent being jealous of him.

If only I could have looked past my own ego, and pride our closeness as friends would have started much earlier.

Why is it we always wait for the last minute? As I ponder that question I resent myself even more.

I may have never said it aloud but O'Malley was the prime example of a real man.

I am and will remain eternally grateful to have known and worked aside such a man with the class and standard George held.

The past three days have been an emotional rollercoaster with one too many steep drops.

Three days we have all been sitting and now lying on the hospital's bathroom floor. Izzie's bathroom floor.

Showering makes no sense. Hunger pain is depressed. The smell of bad breath and wreaking odor posses no fuss. Clean clothes are not necessary. All of it seems meaningless as weep for the missing piece of our family.

I silently make a promise to myself, vowing to swallow my ego, my pride and anything else that will prevent me from fully committing to my real family. All in the name of George O'Malley.


	5. Chapter 5

What was it that was holding me back? What force stopped me from lunging forward? Why couldn't I get off the elevator? Why couldn't I take George's hand and guide him into the elevator with me? I firmly believe if we both rode back up the elevator he would still be living.

My memory has fully restored. The image of George in his military uniform will forever be burned into the back of my eye lids. It's the only memory of George that no one else knows about and I plan on keeping it that way.

We were the closest. He was and always will remain my best friend. Only can we love each other as a significant other, break up and still remain so close and connected to each other.

My tears escape my eyes at a quicker pace as I regret not telling him first. Telling him off my illness.

How silly of me to think he could not handle it. He would have done just the same as Cristina. No, I take that back. He would have told every one and admitted me as a patient a lot sooner than Cristina did.

I want to blame Hunt for inspiring George to enlist in the army.

I want to blame the Chief for sending him home early.

I want to blame that girl Amanda for not paying attention to her surroundings.

I want to blame George for being kind, caring and a hero.

I just want to blame someone for this larger than life tragedy, but I can't because in reality it is no one's fault.

Sadly, this is life and in this moment I hate it. I desperately want my best friend back. I want him to witness my recovery. I want him to be present for my first child, to give him the honor of being the godfather to all of my children.

I begin to cry louder. Yelling. Why is life so unfair? Why is it so cruel?

I finally quiet my erratic sobs, but still breathing uncontrollably and shake my head at the current situation I and my real family are enduring. I close my eyes savoring the image of my best person in a military uniform. I savor the image of my best friend giving me away at my wedding. I savor the last moment we shared on the couch of my hospital room. I silently promise to myself to savor every single moment I shared with George and to continue to with the rest of my real family. In this moment I am no longer bright and bubbly or full of sunshine, but with George's memory deeply placed in my heart and mind I plan on getting back there. For now, we weep.


End file.
